


What Are the Odds?

by Sarek and Amanda Archive Maintainer (Selek)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Swimming, T'Pree, Terry L. Gardner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selek/pseuds/Sarek%20and%20Amanda%20Archive%20Maintainer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Amanda’s insistence, Sarek learns how to swim in the pool at her apartment, then in the ocean. Little did he know that what Amanda taught him would save a life.</p><p>Written by Terry L. Gardner (T'Pree).</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Are the Odds?

~ooOoo~

 

"Congratulations, Sarek, you are an excellent swimmer. I am confident that you can pass and be certified in the swimming and life saving program at the YMCA," said Amanda. "There are certain things you need to learn at the beach before we begin your swimming lessons in the ocean. Swimming in the ocean is very different from swimming in a swimming pool."

 

"You need to learn to recognize and understand rip currents in the ocean and how to escape a rip current if you get caught in one. Your next lesson will be at Baker's Beach. It is probably San Francisco's most scenic beach with its spectacular view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Marin Headlands. It is actually located in the Presidio, and is just west of the bridge. Would you prefer to meet me there or come here to pick me up and we will go together?"

 

"I prefer to meet you here."

 

"Very well. We will meet here at the usual time."

 

~ooOoo~

 

Sarek parked his flitter in the parking lot of Baker’s Beach. He got out, walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for Amanda. They grabbed their towels and cooler out of the back storage compartment and headed for the sand. They found a good place to settle and laid their towels and the cooler down on the sand.

 

"Look at the ocean from the beach," began Amanda. "The higher your perspective, the better. Relax your gaze so that you are seeing the whole stretch of ocean. Notice that all the water moving in swells toward the beach, pushes against the beach, and then must find a way back out. When it does, it forms into dark, choppy rivers within the ocean, known as rip currents. The brown color is from the sand pulled away from the beach; the foaminess and choppiness are from the current's confrontation with the incoming swell."

 

"Note the shape of these areas. Usually they are wider at the beach, the mouth of the rip current, and then stretch straight out or at a slight angle into the ocean. The far end of the rip current usually forms a large roundish shape and is known as the head of the rip current. Avoid these rip currents when swimming, because they have the potential to sweep you out far from the beach. You will usually find a rip current running alongside any solid formation stretching into the ocean from the beach, such as a pier, a jetty or a rock formation."

 

"I understand."

 

"Recognizing where rip currents are, before you enter the water, is always a good idea."

 

"How do I recognize that I am in a rip current?"

 

"When the water around you is foamy and brownish and you're slowly getting pulled away from the beach. Look to the beach and determine which direction the current is flowing by comparing where you entered the water to where you are now. Check both sides of you to determine which direction is closer to clean and unfoamy water."

 

"I see. How do I escape the rip current?"

 

"By swimming parallel to the shore in the same direction the current is flowing. Swim toward the shore when you are out of the rip current. Do not attempt to swim against the pull of the rip current and do not panic. There is no such thing as an undertow. This is a common ocean myth. What pulls people under is panic clouding their judgment and exhausting their oxygen supply."

 

"That sounds logical. I will be very careful to remember and follow your instructions."

 

~ooOoo~

 

It had been a long week of negotiations at the Tellerite Embassy, next to the San Francisco Yacht Club. All Sarek wanted on that summer day was to get home to Amanda and end meal.

 

Walking briskly across the marina boardwalk shortly after five p.m., Sarek spotted the doorman from the San Francisco Yacht Club standing in front of his flitter.

 

"Some guy in a white flitter wagon just hit your flitter and another flitter in the parking lot," the doorman said. "I managed to get his license number for you."

 

Sarek surveyed the damage: a few scratches on his rear bumper. Very minor damage. Even so, he would have to report it. Amanda and end meal would have to wait.

 

He pulled out his personal communicator and was about to use it when a patron of the yacht club came running up to the doorman and exclaimed, "Hey, Barry! A lady from one of the high-rises called the bar and said she saw a flitter go into the water. I ran out and looked in the pond out front, but I didn’t see anything. I wonder what she was talking about?"

 

Sarek and Barry ran, then stood on the dock and stared out at the Harbor. The water was calm. Then Sarek saw a cooler bobbing on the waves, and tapes and scraps of paper where scattered everywhere. But when he noticed bubbles, he stooped down to take a closer look and caught a glimpse of something white below the surface.

 

James McCarthy, a sixty-six-year-old lawyer and his granddaughter, Ellen McIan, fifteen, had been trying to get out of a tight parking spot in the yacht club’s small lot when grandpa stepped on the accelerator instead of the brake. The flitter bounced off Sarek’s flitter and a blue flitter sedan, then plunged backward off the pier.

 

Ellen called the Harbor Emergency Service line on the flitter’s comm unit. "I’m in the San Francisco Yacht Club and we’re sinking in the flitter, and I can’t open the doors!" said the frantic teen. "The water is coming in and I don’t want to drown! HURRY!"

 

"Okay," answered the emergency dispatcher, "we’re sending Paramedics and the Harbor Patrol. Can you open the window? Hello? Hello?"

 

Ellen didn’t answer. The water was now up to her waist, and the weight of the engine was pulling the wagon to the bottom, nose-first.

 

It was sinking rapidly as the back storage compartment popped open and the water poured in. With the doors and windows sealed shut by the weight of the water, escape seemed hopeless.

 

"Quick!" said grandpa. "Climb into the back seat! There’s more air there!"

 

On the pier, Sarek pulled off his boots, threw off his robe and peeled of his tunic. "Wait here," he told the elderly doorman. "If there’s anybody down there, I’ll need your help pulling them out of the water." Taking a deep breath, Sarek jumped into the harbor and swam ten feet down to the bottom. Although the water was the temperature of bath water, under the surface, it was dark. It was difficult for Sarek to see anything.

 

Suddenly, his arm brushed against cold metal – a flitter door. He grabbed the latch and yanked hard, but it wouldn’t open. He felt around and found the other three doors, but none would budge. Sarek was running out of breath, so he quickly surfaced, then plunged down again.

 

Inside the flitter, Ellen pressed her face against the roof – the last spot where there was any air. Her grandfather was floating next to her, unresponsive in the semi-darkness. She took another deep breath, but this time inhaled only water.

 

‘This is it,’ she thought, coughing and gasping. She pursed her lips tightly together to keep the water out. ‘I’m not going to make it.’

 

Three times, Sarek came up to get air, then swam down to try to open a door. ‘I’ve got to get in here,’ he thought, pulling on the driver’s side door with all the Vulcan strength that he had and this time he felt it give just a little.

 

Inch by inch, the door opened. Sarek swam into the flitter and stretched his six-foot-two frame across the front seat. He felt around. Nothing. Next he swept his arms toward the back seat. Something brushed against his hand. Hair! ‘Whoever you are, you are coming up with me.’

 

Seconds later, Sarek surfaced with Ellen. By now, a crowd had gathered on the pier. Barry and another yachtsman came forward to help pull the unconscious girl from the water.

 

Exhausted, Sarek hoisted himself up onto the pier and was about to start CPR when a woman rushed over. "I’m a nurse," said Maria Chapel. "Let me work on her."

 

Sarek suddenly realized there must be another person inside the flitter wagon – the man Barry had seen hit his flitter. He dove down again but couldn’t find anybody inside the flitter wagon.

 

As he came up to catch his breath, emergency workers arrived. They discovered McCarthy in the back seat, but it was too late. He died at the hospital.

 

"If Sarek hadn’t stepped up, it’s very unlikely that Ellen would have lived," said Captain Tenison of the San Francisco Harbor Patrol. "Another two minutes and she wouldn’t have made it."

 

Ellen, a Girl Scout who hopes one day to become a lawyer like her granddad, said, "I’ll be forever grateful to the handsome Vulcan who saved my life. I was so scared. I’m amazed that a Vulcan knows how to swim and at Sarek’s strength and his determination to never give up."

 

Sarek answered, "My wife insisted on teaching me to swim in the ocean. She convinced me that it was the logical thing to do and she was right. It did enable me to rescue you. I would like to think that somebody would do the same for me."

 

Barry responded, "I believe that you were meant to be here at the yacht club at this moment, on this day. All you were doing was heading home to your wife and dinner. What are the odds?"

 

Sarek just raised his left eyebrow and wrapped himself in the thermal blanket given to him by a paramedic.


End file.
